


What Is Said and What Is Done

by ProtoNeoRomantic



Series: The Three Queens of Arthur Pendragon [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Child born of incest, Episode: s01e07 Gates of Avalon, Episode: s01e08 The Beginning of the End, Episode: s03e06 The Changeling, F/M, FAKING DEATHS, Family Secrets, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Half-Sibling Incest, Human Sacrifice, Lies, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic, Marriage, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Politics, Seers, Threats of Violence Against Children, Uther is so clever he nearly outsmarts himself, What Doesn't Kill You Can Still Seriously Mess You Up, heritage, legitimacy, succession, uncertain parentage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25725172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoNeoRomantic/pseuds/ProtoNeoRomantic
Summary: Arthur tries to secure his future by finding a wife, but the past has other ideas, and fate has not forgotten his marriage in all but name to Morgana.
Relationships: Arthur Pendragon/Sophia (Merlin), Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Gaius & Morgana (Merlin), Gaius & Uther (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin & Morgana & Arthur Pendragon, Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Mordred (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Mordred & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Mordred & Morgana (Merlin), Morgana/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: The Three Queens of Arthur Pendragon [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/309507
Kudos: 10





	1. Sight In the Kingdom of the Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Morgana

_Dread and sorrow suffuses the scene, palpable as aether. Urgency, taunt as a bow string, the arrow pulled back and ready to be loosed. And yet, there is an eerie quietude to what she sees. Floating peacefully below the surface of the lake, Arthur's angelic face, his golden hair flared about him in a halo, faces those eternal depths as untroubled as a stone. Above him, waiting for his soul to leave his body, with a calm patience that boarders both indifference and determination, another golden-mained figure stands, the devil to his angel, pretty devil though she be. She means his death without malice, like a scullery maid wringing a chickens neck. She holds his life so cheap._

“Arthur!” Morgana gasps, like a quiet scream, as much of pain as fear. There is a dreadful sense of weight, of that which is already lost. A desperate clinging to what remains. As if he were truly in mortal danger, dependent on her forbidden knowledge to save him.

But she knows nothing, Morgana reminds herself. She has seen nothing. Nothing real. She is a foolish girl, jumping at shadows cast by the light of her own morbid imagination. She is no seer. No Oracle of Delphi, not even Caesar's wife, gifted by the gods with one solitary, useless warning.

Her dream is only that. It is nothing at all. At most it is the product of a troubled soul, her unuttered grief at Arthur's eventual, inevitable, and lately much-talked-of marriage, making itself felt while sleep leaves her defenseless against it. She ought not make a fool of herself by broadcasting it throughout the household.

Morgana holds this precious truth close to her heart as she struggles to walk and not run to Gaius's chambers. He must have something to relieve her of this affliction. Something stronger than the same old sleeping droughts she's been taking for ages.

She is able to cling to this assurance; up until the moment she rounds a corner in a corridor of her own castle, her own home, and sees her nightmare made flesh. The devil herself set loose upon the Earth. And apparently being installed—with the help of Merlin, who can't seem to get the hang of not being Arthur's servant—in the room right next to Arthur's.

The room that was _hers_ , for so many years. Until it wasn't. For reasons Arthur must well remember!

Merlin confirms it, even gives the fiend a name, “Sophia.” For one heated moment, a canker of jealous spite blooms in Morgana's mind and she longs to see Arthur dead at Sopia's hand. It seems only right that “Wisdom” as this she-beast is called should put a swift end to Arthur's callous heedlessness of lessons learned at so dear a cost. Dear to her, if not to him.

The moment passes swiftly. It leaves Morgana chilled and shaking. Almost as frightened of herself as of Sophia. This is what a witch would feel in her stead, she supposes, assuming they are as evil and selfish as Uther claims. And is not jealousy described as a monster, with eyes as green as her own?

Predictably, Gaius does his best to reassure her, as he always does, that her dreams, though unnerving, are not unnatural. He prescribes a stronger sleeping drought. Morgana accepts it gratefully, but with the guilty knowledge that it may suppress her nightmares, but not the truth behind them.

For truth it certainly is. In her heart of hearts, Morgana is sure of that now. She is denied even the slender comfort of believing that Gaius truly supposes otherwise when he gives her his firm if not frank parting admonition, “Don't bother Uther about this. No need to worry him.”

Uther Pendragon is not a man to be worried by idle fancies. His perpetual vigilance is not directed against girlish nonsense. But he is forever on guard for the appearance; within his household or without, of his legion of dreaded enemies. Druids. Witches. Sorcerers. And Seers.


	2. Whisper Campaign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Uther

Uther supervised the preparations for the impromptu feast personally, with a mixture of anticipated triumph and wicked amusement. There was hardly time to engage proper entertainment. A pair of jugglers and a band of minstrels would have to do. But what was lacking on that score was more than made up by the lavish assortment of livestock and wild game he ordered the be slain and roasted for the occasion, let alone the piles of produce, heaps of baked good, and cascades of confectionery.

Every noble in his court and all those he could round up from any nearby estates would be in attendance. Within the week all of Albion and the Western Isles would be buzzing with the news (and more importantly the rumors) of the mysterious, beautiful, and apparently important young woman who had come to Camelot at this auspicious time in Young Prince Arthur's search for a bride.

He had even managed, with the help of some of his young knights and his many gossiping servants, to spread abroad in the taverns and the marketplaces rumors that Sophia and her father were actually Continental Royalty traveling in disguise. By evening, he had heard from a knight, who had heard from a sailor, who'd sworn that he'd sailed on the very ship upon which they had made the crossing, that she was, in fact, the daughter of the Western Emperor.

That would teach Lord Godwyn to imply that his daughter had more and better prospects than Prince Arthur. The nerve of some people! Just because he was now the Regent of his late wife's kingdom, which was hardly bigger than the average fiefdom in Camelot, just because Cenred had wined and dined him a bit, stroking his ego to try to drive a wedge between the two allies; Godwyn seemed to forget that it was under Uther's command and tutelage that he had become a knight worthy of such a match in the first place!

Uther smiled with dark amusement at the memory of that graceless lad who had seemed still a child when he had entered the King's service, though at seventeen he was two full years older than the experienced warrior tasked with training him on the fly in the midst of the war against Segan's forces. All thumbs, stammering and slouching, like that detestable creature Merlin; he had been a child. But Uther had made a man of him. And a knight.

It was Sir Godwyn's distinguished service in that war that had caught the eye of a certain young princess and her doting father. It had been an unspoken understanding between the two families since Elena was born and her mother lost that her kingdom was under Uther's tacit protection, precisely because of his former association with her father and the obvious potential that a match between their respective sole heirs might someday unite their kingdoms. Lord Godwyn had not forgotten that. Of course not. He couldn't. He depended upon it every day.

This was all a game really. Not chess, but something rather more theatrical. And more combative. A jousting match perhaps. But one in which neither competitor was meant to be unseated. The ultimate end was inevitable, being desired by both players.

Arthur, unless he genuinely received a better offer; and soon, would be married to Elena, and the kingdoms would be united. All this talk of other suitors on both sides was mere puffery. Saber rattling. Two experience negotiators positioning themselves for the real battle, which would be fought around council tables. Each kingdom determined to make the match on it's own terms, to absorb and not to be absorbed by the other.

The practical advantages; of course, from leadership to lands and resources, were all on the side of Camelot, and Godwyn knew it. Hence his pretense of having better options to consider, hoping to improve his bargaining position with illusory advantages. That was fine. Uther would play his game and beat him at it. He'd make the match seem so unattainable (and therefore irresistible) that the wariest noble in that tiny kingdom would cast aside his foolish fears of absorption and demand that Godwyn bring about their union at any cost.

And so, Camelot would once again stand victorious in battle. Another kingdom would fall, not to the sword, but to a whisper.


	3. Jealousy Is Such an Unattractive Quality in a Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Morgana

Morgana was seated at Uther's left hand and, as befitted his station, Arthur was, of course, on his right. And wedged in just next to him, as tight as you please, so that Morgana was forced to look at the two of them all night, sat the dreadful nightmare creature Sophia. The she-beast preened and pouted, clung and demurred, playing her artificial innocence and false vulnerability as broadly as a common whore whose panderer seeks to puff up her value by presenting her as a virgin to a callow lad too innocent himself to know the difference.

And Arthur was lapping it up like a starving dog. So was every male guest in attendance. Uther was rather more reserved than Morgana had usually seen him on such festive occasions. He took water with his wine, and his acknowledgment of the entertainment was at most polite, though indeed, it hardly deserved more. If Morgana hadn't know better, she would have thought he was dining with a known enemy whom, for reasons of state, could not be acknowledged as such. But none-the-less, he too seemed quite taken with Sophia, drinking her health, praising her graces and manners, congratulating her father for imparting them and generally making a fuss over her as if she really were the Emperor's daughter.

But Arthur, oh Arthur! He hadn't known the minx a day, and yet he fawned over her. He held her hand in the sight of all the court as they leaned their heads at each other and prattled like two milkmaids. Thank all the gods from Babylon to farthest Thule, the great hall was as crowded and as noisy as a tavern tonight! Morgana would have hated to have been able to hear them any better.

Mercifully, Gwen was there, serving kind looks and small gestures of sympathy along with food and drink, which were appreciated even at the cost of finding less wine in her water with every goblet. Even this officious meddling was meant as kindness and appreciated as such. At least there was one person left in Camelot who wasn't trampling over Morgana's inconveniently breathing corpse in their haste to celebrate and aid in the quest to find Arthur a more suitable bride. However hopeless her prospects seemed, with Arthur or any worthwhile suitor, at least she had Gwen for company in her misery, that much she could depend upon.

Not that Gwen could linger long at any one time. With the sudden and elaborate nature of these festivities, every servant in the household was on hand, and kept hopping too. Which only made Merlin more conspicuous by his absence. It was still difficult to keep in mind that his position in the household had so greatly changed. A change which, given the expansive guest list for the evening, really should have landed him a seat by Gaius at one of the furtherer tables. But the physician's only companions tonight were Geoffrey of Monmouth, his stout peasant wife, and a few tradespeople of their mutual acquaintance.

Even knowing Merlin and his tendency to rankle Uther's nerves, it was still difficult to imagine what he could have done to have simultaneously incurred both the King's disfavor and his patronage to the point of being preferred to such a prestigious apprenticeship while being as near to banished from court as was possible while continuing to remain under the same roof. Until that morning, the boy hadn't been seen in the throne room, let alone the banquet hall for a month or more. And though he hadn't commented on it directly, the King had seemed far from pleased to see him there or to learn that he had accompanied Arthur on his morning hunt despite it being completely outside his duties to do so.

Of course, Morgana knew from her own bitter experience that there could be no truth to the most ridiculous and scurrilous rumors circulating on the subject. For that matter, even if she hadn't taken such a thorough measure of Arthur, Morgana could have hardly suspected Merlin of any such deviance. Not given the way he doted on Gwen and took any excuse to be in her company.

Indeed, if anyone would know what the real cause of Merlin's sudden and peculiar change in fortunes was, it should be Gwen, but she remained steadfastly tight-lipped on the subject in the face of every means of persuasion. At times, though naturally she never said any such thing to her mistress, Morgana got the odd impression that her servant may have suspected some truth in the bizarre stories that had been concocted about Arthur and Merlin by the bored and malicious among the royal household. There was something in the way she expressed her reticence on the subject that smacked as much of distaste as of loyalty.

Morgana had never thought of Gwen as a gullible person, but she supposed anyone could be fooled once. And she certainly lacked Morgana's direct knowledge of Arthur's passions. Alas, it seemed she was still less than intimately acquainted with those of Merlin as well. Poor girl, she'd be waiting for her skittish beau to make his move forever if she (or someone) didn't give him a shove in the right direction.

Morgana toyed with the idea of intervening. Mainly because she need an idea to toy with. Anything to take her mind off the foolish display that Arthur was making of himself before her very eyes. Mercifully, the clock had not struck ten when Aulfrik himself put a stop to the agony. The old man stood up (leaning on his ridiculous staff as if it were a royal scepter and he himself were holding court) and announced that, while he appreciated the Kings hospitality, he and his daughter were tired from their journey and the ordeals of the day and would be retiring at once.

By the look on her smug, fat face, it was clear that Sophia had prearranged this with her father, as eager to be free of Arthur's company as she was to have him believe she enjoyed it. When the room fell into shocked silence and everyone in attendance looked from Uther to Aulfrik and back again in apprehension (or anticipation) of mortal violence, the supposed nobleman followed his near proclamation of an end to the festivities with a hasty, "By Your Majesty's leave, of course."

Uther's eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a particularly nasty smile. Morgana had never been so happy to see him in such a murderous mood. But to her shock, and to the great relief of the room in general, Uther magnanimously declared that he himself was ready to retire and that all others were free to stay or to go as they liked.

Most of the revelers seemed content to carry on, but Arthur rose and took his leave within minutes of his father and their ungrateful guests of honor. Morgana followed suit as soon as was politely manageable. At least she doubted Uther would ever entertain the ridiculous possibility of marrying Arthur to this creature now that her father had so publicly slighted him beyond what most men would have been able to survive. She knew that she ought to feel at least a little guilty for secretly wishing that the both of them had been slain before Arthur's eyes, or arrested, or at least sent packing. But she was not ashamed in the slightest.


	4. A Friend.  For Life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> P.O.V. Merlin

Merlin hadn't meant to show up at Arthur's chambers again so soon. Honestly. Not after the withering look Uther had given him yesterday as Arthur had told the story of the hunting trip he had volunteered to help with given that Arthur's latest servant--the fourth in as many weeks--had injured himself trying to polish a sword and still had some healing to do before he would be of any use. Not after the glad news that Arthur was finally taking a natural interest in a girl other than Morgana, which seemed like a path out of both of the doomed romances that had put him at odds with his father in recent weeks.

He simply happened to be walking by. Delivering medicine and checking on patients. "Making the rounds" as Gaius called it. And this corridor was hardly even out of his way, a two minute detour at most. It wasn't as if he even expected to see any evidence of whether the Prince's 'honorable intentions' had kept him in his own bed last night. The sun had been up an hour. Arthur was better at both war and diplomacy than to be caught out of bounds so late in the morning.

But when he heard Arthur's thunderous, exasperated cursing at whatever poor soul was helping him with his morning routine, he had to peep in and see if the poor servant was alright, now didn't he? He was prepared to be concerned, even brave if need be. But what Merlin saw as he eased the door open, he was not prepared for. There, half dressed and at least half crazed, stood Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot, making his own bed, badly, and cursing himself quite as harshly as he would have anyone else who had been performing that same service with as little skill.

Merlin had been barely managing to hold in most of his laughter until, with hilarious dignity and rage, the most valiant warrior in Albion looked up from his humble work and demanded, "What the devil are _you_ laughing at?" Unable to resist any longer, succumbing to the fit totally, Merlin doubled over with laughter that left him coughing and gasping for breath, holding his knees to keep his legs from buckling out from under him.

If he could have managed to draw breath, Merlin might have said something just clever enough to get himself killed, or bludgeoned about the head at least. As it was, the anger in Arthur's eyes was so sullen, so petulant, so childlike that every time Merlin tried to speak, he collapsed into laughter all over again until he was well and truly out of breath.

After a minute or two of this, Arthur looked as though he might genuinely burst into tears. That startled Merlin and hit him with a burst of guilt and compassion that sobered him almost instantly. "Come on," he offered with an encouraging smile, "Let me do that. You know you aren't qualified to be a proper servant to such an important Prince."

A look of mingled chagrin and relief replaced the Prince's overwhelmed, near panicked expression. In a moment, he was smiling in such a way as to suggest that he might almost have been able to laugh at his own comically overblown distress. Almost. He stepped aside, shaking his head wonderingly, and let Merlin help him with the bed.

It felt nice. Nicer than Merlin liked to admit. To be back here. Like old times. Like he belonged. But he didn't, he reminded himself. And he couldn't forget that. For his sake or for Arthur's. This was not his place anymore. At Arthur's side. Whatever his heart confessed of love; whatever the dragon said of destiny. At least for now.

The mere act of helping the Prince straighten his sheets and arrange his pillows; however needful, was enough to get Merlin killed if Uther was to catch wind of it in just the wrong moment, in just the wrong mood. They both knew that, yet here they were. Talking and laughing. Feeling warmed by each other's company. Merlin could almost have forgotten the forced estrangement between them, if Arthur could have talked of literally anything other than Sophia.

He spoke of her beauty, her, charm, her wit, her engaging personality... just as if he were circling ever nearer to a revelation he could not quite bring himself to make. One rather obvious possibility was that he meant to reveal that his 'honorable intentions' towards the young stranger had been futile, that he had indeed succumbed to lust and taken everything but her hand already. The mixture of disappointment, vicarious pride, genuine good wishes, jealousy, and (to be quite honest) arousal, that this thought awakened within Merlin was too confusing even to begin to sort out. If Arthur was happy, Merlin resolved to be happy for him.

It wasn't a matter of faking either. He genuinely wanted all good things for Arthur, including the hearts and (reportedly) even more desirable parts of beautiful young women. But still, when it became apparent that Arthur had not yet gotten that far, that he was in fact working up to a request rather than an admission, Merlin felt almost as much relieved as he did apprehensive.

But when the request came, it was not a small one, or a safe one. Arthur had plans for Sophia sure enough, but not in bed, at least not literally; and those plans involved ducking out of a patrol with Uther and the Royal Guard like a naughty little pupil dodging his masters lessons or a kitchen maid avoiding her chores. Worse, he had a plan for avoiding the King's displeasure, and it involved using Merlin as a human shield.

Merlin blinked at him, certain he had heard wrong though the word had been entirely too clear to be misunderstood. Only the numbness of astonishment saved him from distress and panic as he sought unlcarification, "You want me to lie to the King?"

When Arthur did not deny it, Merlin, felt panic bubbling up from underneath his stupefication and seeping out around the edges. He heard his own useless babbling in his ears, desperately throwing logical arguments at a problem that had nothing to do with good since and everything to do with conflicting loyalties and passions.

In proof of this, none of Arthur's responding arguments addressed anything that Merlin was saying. They focused instead on his desperate need for more time to press his suit with Sophia, honorably or otherwise. That their persuasive power depended on the fact that Merlin was as helpless against Arthur's charms as he was against Sophia's went unsaid. Instead, Arthur implored him, "I can't order you to lie to the King but, you'll be a friend for life if you do."

Somehow, he said it with such warmth and trust and hope and affection that Merlin not only found himself helplessly agreeing, but grinning from ear to ear, overjoyed to be of use. It was a full minute after Arthur happily strolled out of the room, leaving him there alone, making his bed like a servant, risking his life in service of his master's lust as no honorable man would have ever asked an actual friend let alone a lover to do, that the truth finally dawned on Merlin, wiping the smile from his face. He might be a bit more than a servant to Arthur, but he would certainly never be more than, at very most, a friend. For life.


End file.
